


Look What You Made Me Do

by orphan_account



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17361797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Hello again, Eve Polastri,” Villanelle says, her familiar, distinct accent sounding like music to Eve’s ears.





	Look What You Made Me Do

Carolyn wants to put her in a safe house. 

Eve refuses.

If Villanelle wants to seek revenge for Eve stabbing her, then a safe house isn’t going to stop her. She proved that when she killed Frank and chopped his knob off.

So if Eve is going to be fearing a visit from Villanelle no matter where she is, she decides she may as well go home, where she can fear for her life in a familiar space with a comfortable bed and a TV.

She doesn’t worry about the fact that she’s putting Niko in danger by going back to their home until she’s unlocking the front door, and then she feels like such an inconsiderate  _asshole_ because  _God_ she hasn’t even thought about her own husband in days. She’s been too busy thinking about-

_I masturbate about you a lot._

_Would you stay for a bit?_

_I really liked you!_

Eve sees the events from that apartment in Paris over and over again in her mind, like a film is being projected onto her eyelids on repeat. She tries to pause it at the moment where Oksana was looking at her with that adorable vulnerability as she had said _“I_ _think about you too”_ , and she tries to fast forward through the look of betrayal in Oksana’s eyes when Eve had stabbed her. Unfortunately, she has no control. It’s like someone else is holding the remote and pressing the buttons at whim, and Eve has no choice but to watch.

And if she’s not reliving the events, then she’s analysing them relentlessly, asking herself why Oksana did this, or said that. Like just after Eve had stabbed her, and Oksana had said, _“I_ _really liked you”_ closely followed by, _“it_ _hurts!”_ But what had hurt? Being stabbed, or being stabbed _by Eve?_

Eve doesn’t suppose it matters, but she can’t stop herself from wondering. Repeatedly.  _Obsessively_ . 

It’s worse when she closes her eyes and tries to sleep, because she can’t get her brain to be quiet for even a moment, which is why she hasn’t slept much over the past few days. And in her exhausted, Villanelle-centred mind, she hasn’t had much time to think about Niko.

Until she’s unlocking their door that is, and she finally, belatedly, remembers that he exists. She walks into their kitchen sheepishly, finds Niko zipping up a bag. He tells her he’s glad she’s safe, but that they still need some time apart to think things over and see if their marriage is worth saving. He holds her until she’s stopped crying, kisses her forehead and leaves Eve alone in their home with a murderous psychopath after her.

Eve is relieved. At least he won’t become collateral damage, unless Villanelle purposely goes after him, tries to hurt Eve by killing the thing she cares about. Just like Eve had threatened to do to her in this very kitchen, once upon a time. 

* * *

After Eve is finished unpacking, she marches into the kitchen and pulls open the cutlery drawer-

Her eyes land on the knife that Villanelle had held against her throat the night they had eaten shepherd’s pie together.  She’d been terrified that Villanelle would kill her on the spot, but Eve still wishes, in a weird way, that she could go back in time to that moment. To being so close to Villanelle that the assassin was all she could see, all she could hear, all she could smell, all she could feel. In the face of what Eve had been sure was certain death, she hadn’t given herself time to enjoy that moment.

She prefers not to think about  _why_ she should enjoy that moment. She’s not ready to admit to herself just yet that may have feelings for-

Eve shakes her head, trying to shake away her thoughts, and picks up the biggest knife she owns. She carries it to her room and puts it in the drawer next to her bed.

* * *

Carolyn says that there  _may_ be a job for Eve in the Security Service again one day, despite the fact Eve ignored direct orders and got fired. Twice. 

That’s only under the condition that Eve speaks to a therapist though, which Eve isn’t sure she wants to do. She’d feel too self-conscious telling a stranger that she stabbed a psychopath, instantly regretted it and tried to save said psychopath’s life.

She tells Carolyn that she’ll take some time to think about it. 

* * *

For a couple of weeks, Eve isn’t at all worried about dying. Villanelle will be too weak to come after her right away. She’ll need time to recover from the stab wound before coming to murder Eve.

Eve tries to relax.

* * *

After three weeks, she starts to get restless. Villanelle will be getting stronger and stronger, she’ll be coming for her any day now.

It doesn’t help matters that Eve’s mind is playing tricks on her. One night, she wakes certain that she can smell Oksana, the expensive perfume that she wears which never quite masks her natural scent of… sweat? No, it’s not an unpleasant scent, it’s just…  _Villanelle_ .

Eve is too groggy to think clearly at first, and she lays there smiling to herself for a few seconds, breathing in for as long as possible with each breath so that she can get as much of the smell as she can. Then her brain finally catches up with her and the alarm sets in, because if she can smell Oksana then that means she’s here, and if she’s here then that means she’s here for  _revenge_ for being  _stabbed_ . Eve’s eyes fly open to complete darkness, but she can practically  _feel_ the presence of the Russian standing in the corner of the room, knife in hand, enjoying watching her prey realise she’s about to be killed. Eve scrambles for the switch on her lamp, almost knocking the damn thing off her bedside table in her panic.

Once the room is illuminated, she sees that it is empty. Everything is exactly as she left it. There are no murderous assassins in sight. 

She leaves the lamp on as she settles back into her pillows and tries to regulate her breathing, but her heart won’t stop racing and she’s almost certain that the smell of perfume is not a figment of her imagination. It’s really there. She can really smell it.

Or she’s losing her mind, which is probably more likely.

* * *

Another morning, she wakes up with an almost blinding light directed at her eyelids. She groans and holds a hand up to shade her eyes, then looks for where it’s coming from. Her brow furrows. 

Her curtains are open.

She never sleeps with her curtains open, and she swears that she shut them the night before… at least, she assumes that she did. She can’t remember doing it, but it’s not like she thinks about closing her curtains. She also can’t remember closing her front door when she went out to get milk yesterday, but she knows that she did it because that’s just what she does. It’s automatic. It’s muscle memory. She closes the door when she leaves the house, she closes the curtains when it’s dark out

She never leaves her curtains open overnight. 

Eve stands and walks to the window to close them again, but her heart almost stops when she realises the curtains aren’t the only things that are open. The window is open too, ever so slightly, and Eve  _knows_ that she wouldn’t have left that open - it’s the middle of winter, for God’s sake! She can’t even remember the last time she  _opened_ the window, and there’s no way it’s been like that for months without her noticing. 

Eve looks out of the window at the grey Ford parked across the street. An undercover police car. There’s no way Villanelle has been in her house without anybody knowing. There’s just no way.

* * *

 It’s been five months since Paris, and she’s finally starting to sort her life out. She has a job interview today, for a receptionist position at a nearby hotel. She’s not ready to fully get back into her old life, and she’s certainly not ready for mandated therapy, but she needs to start getting out of the house again.

So she’s starting with a job interview, which means she needs something nice to wear. 

It looks like her bedroom has been ransacked by the time she’s finally picked an outfit. When she checks herself over in the mirror, she can see the rejected dresses and blouses that lay strewn across the floor and her unmade bed behind her, but she ignores them for now. Niko had always been the one who hated mess, who couldn’t even leave a wet towel on the floor for five minutes after getting out of the shower. Eve has realised that her life is much messier without him.

The outfit she’s decided on for the interview is a white shirt, black trousers and a grey blazer. 

Boring. Safe. 

She’s also wearing the heels Villanelle had bought her, which is only because they make her look more glamorous, not because she misses the blonde assassin. 

When she returns home a few hours later (no longer unemployed), she walks upstairs to change into a t-shirt and leggings so she can celebrate with the champagne and chocolates she’s bought to treat herself. She pushes open her bedroom door and-

And her room is spotless. Gone are the dresses that had littered her floor, the bed is made so smoothly that there isn’t a single wrinkle in the sheets, even the book that she had left on the bedside table has been put back on the shelf. 

Eve’s stomach drops. Someone has been here, and she thinks she knows who. 

But she tries not to jump to conclusions. There are more logical alternatives. Niko might have come to collect some things and seen the mess, and he always hated mess.

She calls him up.

“Hello?” He sounds confused when he answers the phone, probably because they’ve had very little contact over the past few months.

“Have you been to the house?” 

“Have I-? What? When?” 

“Today, Niko. Did you come to the house today?” Eve knows that her abrupt tone could be coming across as hostile, but she’s too anxious to care.

“No, Eve, I haven’t been round today. Why are you asking me that? Is everything OK?”

Eve hangs up the phone, heart going a mile a minute, turns on her heel and starts to search the house, looking in every nook and cranny for God knows what. (Seriously, is she going to find Villanelle hiding in the cupboard under the sink?). 

She’s panting slightly when she collapses onto her bed an hour later. Her entire  _house_ looks like it’s been ransacked now, but she hasn’t found a thing. Villanelle isn’t here, and there’s nothing to suggest that she ever has been. Nothing left behind, no muddy footprints, no signs of forced entry, nothing.

Except Eve didn’t tidy her own room.

She looks out of the window at the grey Ford, today parked a little up the street.

Or did she?

Maybe she is going crazy.

* * *

It’s nice to have some semblance or normality again, to get out of the house and try to take her mind off the assassin. It’s nice to wake up with a purpose, even if that purpose is just to check people in and out of their rooms at the hotel.

But Eve is doing something other than sitting around thinking about Oksana Astankova, and that’s something.

* * *

Everything comes crashing down one morning when she wakes up to someone brushing her hair out of her face.

Eve opens her eyes - groggy, confused - to see a familiar blonde standing over her, stroking her cheek tenderly with a fond look in her eyes.

“Hello again, Eve Polastri,” Villanelle says, her familiar, distinct accent sounding like music to Eve’s ears. A death march, but still.

Eve opens her mouth, but what can she say? That last time she saw Villanelle, she had stabbed her. Eve had been certain that the blonde would find her and kill her, but now she’s found her and… and she’s running the back of her fingers over Eve’s cheek like she’s in awe of her. And Eve has no idea what’s going on, so she can hardly form a comment on the situation. She closes her mouth again and tries to stay very still, as though any sudden movements will startle the assassin and make her lash out.

Villanelle’s lips quirk up slightly. “You’re not going to say hi? That it’s nice to see me?” 

Eve remains still and quiet, watching Villanelle with so much intensity that she’s scared to blink in case she misses something.

“What is it?” Villanelle leans towards her, lowering her voice. “Cat got your tongue?” Then she laughs, loud and abrupt, making Eve jump. 

Eve’s mind is racing, her heart is racing, but somehow she’s paralysed with fear. Unable to move, scream, run (as though any of those things would do her any good).

Villanelle soon stops laughing and she juts out her bottom lip instead. “Really, Eve? You don’t see me for six months and you have nothing to say? That hurts me.” 

But she’s not hurt, she’s never hurt. Eve stabbed her and now she’s standing here acting like it never happened.

Villanelle sighs, her head falling backwards so she’s looking at the ceiling. “I’m losing interest,” she announces. “I really hoped this would be more fun.” When she looks back at Eve she _almost_ looks apologetic. “Looks like I’ll just have to get this over with.”

Eve frowns, not understanding those last words, and she watches Villanelle reach behind her back and pull something from the waistband of her jeans and-

_It’s a knife!_

A big knife with a shiny blade and Eve knows that it’s going to be used to stab her and  _that_ is finally enough for her to snap out of her paralysis. She pushes her bed sheets off herself and tries to scramble away from Villanelle but the assassin is too fast. Like lightening, she grabs one of Eve’s legs and pulls the smaller woman towards her, then drives the knife into the side of her stomach. The movement is so swift, so practised, so lacking in hesitation that Eve isn’t even sure she’s been stabbed until she sees the blood seeping through her pink pyjama top.

And when she sees the blood, it’s like the pain receptors in her brain have finally been made aware that she’s just had a knife thrust into her, and a sharp pain hits her abdomen all at once, like something she’s never felt before.

All Eve can feel is pain, all she can hear is her own heavy breathing, all she can smell is the metallic scent of blood. 

She moves her shaking hands towards her abdomen, where they find Villanelle’s, still on the knife. 

Oh. Right. Eve had forgotten Villanelle was here.

Eve looks up into hazel eyes which are glazed over, dazed,  _crazed_ .

The blonde lifts the hand not on the knife to Eve’s forehead, brushing her hair back clumsily, like a child petting a dog. And then she opens her mouth, draws in a shaky breath.

“Sorry, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> What is this?  
> This was not planned. I just couldn't stop thinking about these characters today so wrote with no idea where it was going and ended up with this.  
> It's brief and not well-written because I'm supposed to be doing coursework right now, but this fandom doesn't have enough fics in it so here is my contribution.  
> I don't know if I should do a part 2 or leave it as this. Thoughts?  
> Have a nice day :)


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